


Tibia your valentine

by daisydoctor13



Category: Frankie (TV 2013)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Canon, i don't even know what else to tag this as, i mean there isn't really a plot here, it's just Zoe overthinking and stuff, near the start of Zoe's depression, there's no romance or anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 04:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydoctor13/pseuds/daisydoctor13
Summary: Zoe finds a Valentine's card - prompt from SiobhanMcG, originally posted on tumblr. The first Valentine's day after James left.





	Tibia your valentine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SiobhanMcG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiobhanMcG/gifts).



"You doing anything nice later, doc?" Mr Carter asks as he shrugs on his coat. She looks at him questioningly.

"For Valentine's day," he states then grins, lighting up his kindly face. "I'm not offering, of course. Peggy wouldn't be too pleased. But are you being wined and dined?"

He nods towards her left hand, she is suddenly hyperaware of the weight of the ring around her finger. She twists it instinctively and shakes her head.

"Not tonight, he's uh...away."

"Ah, well. Treat yourself. You deserve it," he nods and makes his way to the door.

"Thank you, Mr Carter. I'll see you after the operation."

She sighs and puts her head in her hands. She'd forgotten it was Valentine's day. One of her least favourite days of the year. Even when he was still there. Forced romance, pretending to have a perfect relationship with other nauseating couples. The last few years had been spent at home, arguing because _of course_ she'd forgotten, she'd burnt the dinner, she worked late, she'd got mixed up and the boys weren't out of the house. Every year, every anniversary, birthday. There was always something wrong. But when anyone asked her, it had been perfect. Her perfect life.

Even now. She isn't sure how long he's been gone. Christmas was it? In reality he'd left long before he had moved out. Shagging his secretary, how cliché. Now Valentine's day has come around and is a reminder of what she's lost. What she's missing. She almost craves it now. How ironic.

She finishes typing Mr Carter's notes, her next patient is yet to arrive. Time to stretch her legs, she decides. There's no one else around in the staff room and she revels in the peace. Sometimes it all gets too much, too many conversations to focus on, all talking about their own peach perfect lives. It’s always a competition and she can’t win.

She wanders over to the pigeon holes. As she sifts through antibiotic prescribing reports, invitations to various conferences and training days and requests for sick notes, a splash of colour catches her eye. A pink envelope, weighty and with a soft sheen, making it almost shimmer. She looks at the front, checking the name so she can put it in the correct person's pigeon hole.

She frowns, not quite believing that it’s her own name staring back at her in elegant cursive. She returns to her room, shutting the door for privacy. Who would want to send her a card? What sort of joke is this? She knows she isn’t liked. _Snotty. Ice maiden. Stuffy._ She’d never been the social one. Kept her head down, did her job. But even then, she couldn’t help butting heads with people.

She scowls as she rips open the envelope. Its pristine condition ruined. She looks at it. Ripped edges, her name torn. There’s a tightness in her chest. She wants to put it right, fix it. She can’t. She swallows and puts it in the bin, shuddering as her fingers brush against the imperfect edge.

_I want tibia your valentine._

She opens the card and recognises the writing immediately. _Thought this might make you smile. You’ve seemed like you need cheering up recently._

Frankie bloody Maddox. Of course. _Well thank you very much deciding I haven’t been smiling enough._ It’s probably true, but she doesn’t need other people pointing it out. Some underhand way of pulling her up on her workplace failures, as if she needed the reminder. A passive aggressive ‘Hey, give us all a break because you’re putting a downer on everything.’ It seems like a nice gesture. Frankie Maddox, hero, Samaritan, saint.

Her life is a mess, just like her own but somehow, she always comes out on top. The patients love her, the staff worship her. Everywhere she turns someone mentions Frankie. _Isn’t she such a good nurse. Is that what Frankie thinks? I’m surprised you didn’t ask her opinion first._

Niggling, constant reminders that she’s doing such a wonderful job, can do no wrong. Every day they eat away at her, and she’s tired of it all. They don’t get on, they tolerate each other professionally. What right does she have to act as if they are friends? As if a card will make everything better.

The card follows the envelope and she instinctively reaches for the hand gel on her desk. Her hands are starting to feel dry, skin cracking. Still she cleans them, her short nails catching on the ring. She supposes she should take it off. But that would be admitting defeat, then there would be questions, rumours spreading. _Even her husband can’t stand her. Her sons don’t want anything to do with her._ Or maybe there would be pity. She’s not sure which would be worse. Fake niceties and people tiptoeing around her. What a life.

It’s the only one she knows how to live though. She has to keep on going, because if she stopped, what would she have then? She looks back on the computer. Mrs Thomas, 73. Symptoms of a urinary tract infection. _Call patient._

**Author's Note:**

> So I enjoyed writing Zoe enormously, thank you for the prompt! :D


End file.
